


empty veins and my plastic broken crown

by yaskiers



Series: from that unknown [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, kinda character study, more detailed warnings in an, short but not sweet, would apologize for the angst but canon gives me too much material
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28195056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaskiers/pseuds/yaskiers
Summary: He was caught in its awful gaze, in the blank emptiness. A deer staring frozen at a wolf. Helpless. Alone.(or; the aftermath of Lyle Morgan's death)
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Beatrice Morgan
Series: from that unknown [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065494
Comments: 10
Kudos: 24





	empty veins and my plastic broken crown

**Author's Note:**

> tw : description of hanging and implied child abuse (both are quite vague but wanted to give a heads up !)
> 
> title from "late night" by foals

The cold was biting, needles pricking his fingers and a harsh whisper in his ear. Arthur had to move, he knew. Winter was harsh enough in the day, much less when the sun fell.

It was dangerous. He had to leave. To get away, to do something, anything, to survive.

He couldn’t. 

His father’s face stared back at him, now dull eyes when he had always remembered them so alive, with that rare tenderness from before, the fierce glaring rage, the numbing sadness, the casual indifference. He was caught in its awful gaze, in the blank emptiness. A deer staring frozen at a wolf. Helpless. Alone.

The wind whistled in his ears, fresh tears springing to his eyes that he brushed away roughly with frozen, shaking fingers. 

It must’ve been hours, now. He wasn’t sure, time had come to a blurry stop after the lever had been pulled. The jeering of the crowd, screaming for the blood of a murderer, a monster. The thud of the body, the gasps around him, the laughter. 

The overwhelming emotions he could neither name nor describe. 

“You, boy,” A rough voice came from behind him, startling him with a gasp. He turned to the man who had spoken, nervously playing with his thin sleeve, a habit he had never quite been able to curb despite the soft admonishments of his ma and harsher ones of his father. 

The man glared down at him, one hand drifting slowly to rest on his belt. “You’d best be going now. We don’t take kindly to the likes of yous ‘round here. If you know what’s good for you-” 

The threat hung quietly unfinished in the air, but Arthur could hear it anyways. Threats were a language he spoke well. Fingers tapping on the gun belt in warning made his decision before he could.

He ducked his head harshly, a muttered apology barely heard as he shoved his numb fingers as far into his rough, too-small coat pockets as he could and stumbled away. 

For the first time in his life- he had nowhere to go. 

It would not be the last. 

The muddy streets seemed somehow larger than they ever had before, longer than he could possibly see. The lights farther away than he could ever remember them being, the buildings unfamiliar. Snow swirling through the air as the wind screamed louder and louder, until it was all he could hear. 

The house stood as lonely as it always had, the same it had always been, and yet it somehow felt larger and colder in the night. The entrance was uncovered, the threadbare blanket he had propped up with chairs must have flown off in the wind sometime that day, the door broken down by one drunk or another long ago. 

Arthur’s footsteps seemed to echo in the room as he carefully stepped inside, over the bottles and broken glass, the creaking floorboards suddenly too much. 

He paused there, in the middle of the small room, fists clenching as tight as they could. 

The all too familiar sound of drunk, violent men tossed out of one saloon or another and in search of somewhere, something or _someone_ to take their anger out on broke through the icy silence. He was frozen again, the only thought in his mind begging anything out there that they wouldn’t look through the door frame and see him. This time there would be no one there to help him if they got any ideas. 

He was alone.

Keeping his breathing as shallow as he could, carefully feeling for the floor uncovered by the shards and crawling until he was tucked safely in the corner. His arms wrapped tightly around his knees and he rested his head on them, squeezing his eyes shut and listening to the too-loud thudding of his heart. 

Eventually the heavy footsteps retreated, leaving him there. Slowly, carefully- as if it would reveal a gaping monster out of one of his ma’s old stories, or his father’s angry face, ready to shake him awake- he opened his eyes. 

No monsters, just the dark and the emptiness. The leaking roof he had seen all his life, the table with only three legs and a stack of wet newspapers as the fourth, the cracked windows, the broken plate and cups his ma had held so dearly- broken in a fit of drunken rage when she had no longer been around to protect them.

The bedroom where his ma had died, her soft voice no longer there to comfort him, her warmth no longer there to keep them warm, to keep the tender man his father might have once been alive.

His father’s hat, sitting on the table. 

He moved towards it on unsteady feet, reaching for the worn leather with fingers brittle from more than the cold. It felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, right and wrong. Relief and heartache and anger and freedom and terror all at once, wrapped as tightly around him as he clutched the hat to him.

It settled on his head like a weight, comforting like those faint memories from earlier, of warm food and his ma’s laughter, of his father ruffling his hair and setting it on his head, of memories he wished he could pull himself back into.

The first beginnings of light were starting through the broken window, the distant sound of horses on the roads as the workers woke. The snow fell steadily, the rays of sun peeking out over the trees in the distance. The sun was steadily rising, and with it another day, just as any other.

But in that small house with the broken door, Arthur Morgan hid under his ma’s old, worn blanket, the once baby blue color long faded and the thread bare, with his father’s too-big hat tipped over his eyes, curled up as tightly as he could. As if it would bring them back. He hid there, and knew with a certainty he would never be able to place, that he had lost everything.

**Author's Note:**

> *appears after months with embarrassingly short one shot written hurriedly at 3am that's pretty much just pain* Hi
> 
> this is part of a series of short drabble-ish moments ! it has five parts planned and follows the basic premise of 'four + one times arthur morgan watched the sunrise >:)' Yes it will hurt as much as you expect. 
> 
> please let me know what you think! it's my first time writing for this fandom so i'm a bit worried for characterization sfdksbdj
> 
> as always thanks for reading!! twitter @lesbiansadie Tumblr @gaysadie :D


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